


lost overtures

by Elendraug



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-14
Updated: 2008-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how it ends; no matter how it starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lost overtures

**Author's Note:**

> MOOD MUSIC: radiohead ♪ house of cards ♫ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTCe02uV3TA  
> ••••••••••• & christine fellows ♪ lost overtures ♫ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbJN8JXO5k0

Eustace savors the fresh woodland, Overland air as if he'd stopped breathing when they stumbled beneath Harfang. Even now, cantering through that desolate, lava-lit city lingers in the back of his mind like a dimly-remembered nightmare.

He'd thought he'd never seen the sky.

How easily she'd convinced them none of this existed. How easily he'd sworn he'd imagined it all. Maybe this is how his cousins had felt, wearily tolerating his beleaguering, doubting their own fading memories. He too had spent nights dreaming of his time in Narnia and waking to think he'd created the ideas of a ship, of flight above islands, of an endless sea of white lilies.

Not often did he speak of it; his parents spurned the thought of playing pretend and spurned the Pevensies more – not that he saw them with any reliable frequency. In all honesty he couldn't consider anyone at Experiment House an actual friend (not that they encouraged that sort of thing, anyway). Jill believing him was a true surprise.

He stands, ducking his head so as not to hit the roof of the cave, and leaves Jill and Puddleglum sleeping soundly where they lie. Gripping the fur cloak tightly around his shoulders, he steps, shoes crunching in fresh-fallen snow, toward Rilian.

Rilian himself is standing near the horses, softly stroking Coalblack's nose. The fire hisses and crackles nearby, the only sound in an otherwise silent stillness. Dressed in gold-lined black, quiet and thinking of exacted vengeance, he could easily be the Danish prince.

Eustace thinks of his mother's books, of The Bard, of Grecian heroes, of locking his arms around around Rilian's waist as they rode frantically toward the dying mine lights, and of the nervous warmth curling through his stomach. He thinks, listening to the fire and his own breathing, and finally speaks.

"What are you going to do?"

Rilian looks up at him for the first time, though he's been aware of Eustace since he left the cave.

"Rule at Cair Paravel, I suppose. It is what I was born to do."

Eustace remembers Caspian, distraught with desperation to go past the end of the world, to earth. He remembers Edmund and Lucy crying for the rest of that day, knowing they couldn't go back. Peter and Susan, they told him, were barely allowed two visits.

Eustace suspects he won't return, either.

"Rilian?"

"Yes?"

He thinks of Achilles and Patroclus, Alexander and Hephaestion, Shakespeare and sonnets, and – grudgingly – of vicious reprimands at school. This bitter frustration, coupled with the heat settling further into him the longer he watches the prince, spurs him into action as if kicked. He rushes forward and kisses Rilian, cloak falling to the snowdrift below as he grasps the cloth of tunic sleeves. He thinks he's doing it right.

"I can't do this in my world," Eustace mumbles against Rilian's mouth. "Please don't push me away."

"I would not do such a thing," he reassures him. "You saved my life. At least, saved the kind of life worth living. I thank you for it."

He brings a hand up to Eustace's cheek, fingertips scritching into his hair. It smells like horse, and he can't help wrinkling his nose a bit. Soon enough, though, Rilian is kissing him back, and he stops noticing it.

Eustace has always wanted to know how things work, what they're like, and he's thinking perhaps too analytically for the first while. When Rilian moves one hand to the nape of his neck and the other to the small of his back, Eustace cinches his arms tighter around him, stops thinking, and just feels.

* * *

After shaking the snow from the fallen fur cloak and saying goodnight to the horses (talking or no, they deserve the courtesy), Rilian and Eustace return to the cave and lie down. Puddleglum was right – sleeping close with shared blankets keeps you much warmer, although this time he's not back-to-back.

They've both been reptiles, Eustace muses. Rilian thought he was, at any rate. He wonders if that has something to do with it, and shifts closer to him; it's not likely he'll get to do this again in England. Boys don't sleep next to each other quite like this in England. His belt digs into his hip a little.

"I don't think I'll be here much longer," Eustace whispers in the drowsy darkness.

"I trust that your time here was well-spent. You may yet come back, if Aslan wishes it."

"Hmm." Aslan's wishes are what he's concerned about.

"If nothing else," Rilian lays a hand on his shoulder, through his shirt. "I will see to it that you three are remembered as heroes of Narnia."

Eustace smiles at that. "Thanks." Then, a moment later: "I won't forget you, either, you know."

Rilian presses a kiss to his forehead. "I know."

Puddleglum's snoring doesn't start until after they've both gone to sleep.

* * *

Eustace wakes to find Jill shaking his arm and a faun shaking Puddleglum's. To his disappointment, the spot beside him is empty.

"Where's the Prince?" he asks, his question echoing that of the Marsh-wiggle.

* * *

He looks stunning even from afar, chainmail glittering in the sunlight.

All too soon, he can't see him anymore.

* * *

It's a relief to see Caspian – a young Caspian – again, even if it is a bit like hugging a ghost. Coming back to Narnia only to find him aged and dying was heartbreaking. Eustace hopes that somehow he won't grow old.

* * *

He has to dig the hole with a spoon stolen from dinner; the gardening equipment is locked away. Reluctantly, he places the beautiful, giant-sewn clothes in the ground and covers them with dirt, packs it down with his foot. He stays there staring at the loosened soil for a good while before sneaking back to his bed.

In the morning, he regrets it terribly.

* * *

Edmund opens a letter from Eustace that's addressed "to my cousins."

> _Caspian died. I thought you should know. My classmate and I met his son._
> 
> _Write me back sometime._
> 
> _\- E._

After realizing he'd been holding his breath, Edmund releases it in a shaky sigh.

"Lucy," he calls, without moving. "Lucy!"

She shouts back from another room. "Need something, Ed?"

"You'll want to see this!"

* * *

_What's in the pace of a day?  
(We can't unwind.)  
Lost overtures drag our feet around.  
(We can't decide.)  
We long to be near, always aware of the spaces between us._

_Lie still and listen to the hiss and the crackle._

\- Christine Fellows 


End file.
